


bide the danger

by hotelbravo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon divergent starting in 3B, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19199398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelbravo/pseuds/hotelbravo
Summary: It’s been three months since Clary died, and the Institute still feels like a raw nerve. Alec is trying his best to hold everything together – but between Magnus losing his magic, Jace sliding deeper into despair, and Izzy throwing herself headlong into trouble, the cracks are beginning to show.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I love Shadowhunters and everything, but the vast majority of Season 3B made absolutely no sense to me. I had just watched the finale and was a few beers deep at some ungodly hour of the morning when I opened a Word doc titled “What I Wish Had Happened” and started typing a rambling, bulleted list of things I would change (which ultimately clocked in at a whopping 13 pages, oops). 
> 
> That drunken list then later became this fic! It's honestly more of a collection of scenes than a fully-strung-together story, but hopefully it flows well enough that you'll be able to fill in the gaps and follow along. One way or another, I got a lot of satisfaction out of writing it. Enjoy!

The rising sun has turned the sea into diamonds, lapping gently against the white sand shores. The sky is a light gradient of pinks and reds and purples, cast over the bluest water that Clary has ever seen – the kind of colors that makes her itch for a paintbrush in her hands. The island behind her is a deep, jungle green, overgrown with palm trees and a dense canopy of lush forest. She can feel the salt spray against her face, the breeze playing with her hair, her toes deep in the soft sand.  
  
It’s paradise, and Clary kind of wants to cry.  
  
She can feel Jonathan approaching before he ever says a word. She closes her eyes and forces back the rising tide of emotions – _keep it together, Fray, eyes on the prize_ – and automatically holds her arm out for his inspection. After three months of this, she knows the routine.  
  
“You’re up early,” Jonathan says casually as he scrutinizes her anti-tracking rune. He hums in dissatisfaction; a quick pass of his stele returns it to a stark black against her skin. “Couldn’t sleep?”  
  
“I slept fine,” Clary lies, dredging up a smile for him. “Just wanted to see the sunrise. It’s so beautiful here.”  
  
He smiles back at her, and the open affection on his face makes her stomach roil. “I thought you’d like it.”  
  
“I think it might be one of my favorite places we’ve been so far,” Clary says. And she’s not lying – yesterday, she’d spent hours watching the flash of exotic fish, darting between bright coral in the crystal clear water, and even spotted the slow glide of a sea turtle making its way past. It’s the kind of place she dreamed of going as a child, when she and Simon would watch endless nature documentaries and make their big plans to see the world.  
  
“Really?” Jonathan says with a teasing lilt to his voice, “Namaqualand didn’t do it for you?”  
  
“Turns out I’m not really a desert girl,” Clary says, trying to match his tone. “I grew up in New York, land of the humid summers – put me in a dry heat and I just shrivel up like a sun-dried tomato.”  
  
Jonathan chuckles. “Too true, you complained the entire time we were in Watarrka.”  
  
“Lapland wasn’t bad, though, even if I did almost freeze my nose off,” Clary says musingly. “I’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights. I just wish I could have done it without feeling like I was going to lose a couple limbs to frostbite.”  
  
“So deserts are too hot, and mountains are too cold – so picky, sister.” Jonathan actually laughs out loud when Clary pulls a face at him. “I suppose I should have been taking us to tropical islands this whole time. Though you did seem to be a fan of Lofoten, even if it was a little on the chilly side.”  
  
Clary freezes, the memory of Lofoten rising up to catch her in the of the throat. The smile she’s been holding on to cracks, and it’s all she can do to turn away before Jonathan sees the look on her face.  
  
“Well,” she says with forced indifference, struggling for composure as she looks out over the ocean. She coughs to cover the emotion in her voice. “Maybe I just got tired of fjords.”  
  
If Jonathan notices the catch in her voice or the tension in her back, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he bumps her shoulder companionably with his own. Clary ignores the way her skin crawls where he’s touched her – another thing she’s gotten used to over the last three months.  
  
“I’d say we have another week here before it’s time to move on,” he says after a long, quiet moment of listening to the waves rush against the shore. “Where to next?”  
  
It’s the first time he’s ever asked. Clary feels a thrill go up her spine, but keeps the excitement out of her voice when she says, “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”  
  
“Clary,” Jonathan says, a note of warning in his voice.  
  
Clary turns to him with the brightest smile she can muster and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m an artist, Jonathan. Paris has been the dream since I was a little girl – so many of my heroes made their homes there.”  
  
“I know,” Jonathan says, studying her. It’s not a no. Clary faces him with what she hopes is a look of starry-eyed innocence.  
  
“I want to see the Louvre, the Musée D’Orsay, watch the sun set over the Seine and see the city lights from Sacre Coeur. My whole life, I never even left New York; this is the first chance I’ve had to see the world, and it’s because of you.” She lets her eyes get wide and blinks up at him through her lashes. “Please? It would make me so happy, brother.”  
  
Jonathan stares back at her and brings his hand up to cover hers where it’s pressed against his arm. Clary waits with bated breath through the long pause that follows.  
  
Jonathan sighs, and brings his other hand up to cup her cheek. She leans into it slightly and is rewarded with a small smile.  
  
“I love you, sister, but I’m not stupid.”  
  
The words are ice water down her back. She has to force herself not to jerk away from him, to keep her expression neutral and her eyes on his. She’s suddenly cold in the tropical heat.  
  
“You’re not ready yet. You still dream about your friends, about going back to those _Shadowhunters._ ” He spits the word out like a curse, a dark expression crossing his face that makes her shiver. “If I bring you to a place like Paris too soon, I run the risk of losing you.”  
  
“No, brother,” Clary says, mind scrambling, “you’ve got it all wrong. I – maybe at first, I wanted to go back, but it’s been so long and this connection we have is – it’s undeniable. We’re family. I just want to share this with you.”  
  
“You’re right, sister, we are connected.” Jonathan moves their joined hands to rest over his collarbone, where she knows the twinning rune is burned into his skin. She feels a pulse of heat from her own rune as he presses her hand into the fabric of his shirt. “That’s how I know you’re not ready.”  
  
Clary jerks her hands back and steps away from him, hoping he reads her revulsion and growing rage as a simple, sisterly tantrum for not getting what she wants.  
  
She doesn’t the see the flash of fury that flickers across his face, but she doesn’t have to – she can feel the bright stab of it through their bond. It’s gone as quickly as it appears.  
  
“It’s okay,” Jonathan says eventually with a small, forgiving smile, “I can wait. In time, you’ll feel what I feel.”  
  
He turns and walks back toward where the apartment is hidden among the trees. Clary waits until she can no longer sense him behind her before collapsing to her knees in the sand, heaving deep breaths that almost feel like sobs.  
  
The sun has risen, now; it’s a new day.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things are the same (including Alec's increasing blood pressure), while others are... less so.

If Jace keeps this up, Alec is going to have a heart attack before he hits thirty.

He takes a deep breath, shoving down his instinct to snap at his parabatai for nearly getting himself killed – he can already feel the low thrum of misery through their bond, and he knows that reacting with anger right now is just going to make Jace shut down completely. He squares his shoulders and faces Jace across the wooden desk of his office, waiting until Jace is able to look him in the eye. 

“Jace,” he says as gently as he can (which isn’t very – he’s only human, and right now he’s _pissed_ ), “you’re benched.” 

Jace looks genuinely surprised, like he didn’t see this coming. “You can’t do that,” he protests automatically. 

“Yes, I can, and I’m doing it now. You’re reckless, you’re not making the right calls – you’re putting yourself at risk and, by extension, everyone who goes out on patrol with you.” Alec doesn’t need the parabatai bond to know that Jace is devastated; it’s written all over his face. “You’re not ready to be back in the field yet. You need more time.”

“Alec, please,” Jace imploringly, a hitch in his voice, “being on patrol is – it’s the only thing that takes my mind off of – off of other things. I need to feel like I’m doing something. Like I’m doing something good.”

‘Other things,’ in Alec’s opinion, is an impressively innocuous catch-all for ‘ _Lilith hijacking my body and mind to kill people, and also blaming myself personally for Clary’s death_.’ Alec’s heart breaks for his parabatai all over again and he sighs, slumping forward to lean on the solid wood of his desk. 

“I thought you were getting better,” he says quietly. Jace cracks a tired smile.

“Me too, man.”

\--

It’s been a long and bleak three months, but Jace really did seem to be on the mend. Alec privately (and somewhat begrudgingly) credits most of his brother’s improvement to one unforeseen development. 

A few weeks after Clary died, Alec – who was on higher alert than usual when it came to his siblings these days – noticed Jace slipping out of the Institute on nights when he wasn’t assigned patrol, disappearing for hours. When asked, Jace shrugged it off or offered some noncommittal excuse; even after Alec gave up and sicced Izzy on him, Jace managed to avoid giving her a straight answer. In the meantime, Jace just started using more creative methods to leave the Institute undetected. 

After a couple weeks of this, Alec had all but worked himself into a panic that his parabatai’s ever-present cloud of crippling guilt and grief had driven him to start doing something stupid. 

(Magnus had to patiently talk Alec down from some of his more creative theories – “Darling, I’m sure that Jace has not started cage fighting with mundanes. Or street racing. I don’t even think he knows how to drive. And since I’m no longer able to supply him with hangover remedies, and you haven’t noticed him vomiting in the training room every other morning, we can probably rule out aggressive binge drinking. Deep breaths, Alexander.”)

Eventually, Alec’s bone-deep need to make sure Jace was safe won out over Jace’s obvious wish for privacy. He followed him from the Institute one night – not an easy task, between Jace’s Shadowhunter skills and an ever-present soulbond, but he managed – and was surprised to end up at the Hunter’s Moon. 

He was even more surprised to realize that Jace was meeting Simon Lewis, of all people. 

Alec watched through the window as Jace slid into a booth opposite the vampire, who had clearly been waiting for him. Simon pushed a beer into Jace’s hands with a crooked, fanged smile that seemed easy and familiar. As Jace took a long swig, some of the tension went out of his shoulders. 

Alec stood there in slack-jawed consternation for longer than he would ever admit before making his way home to Magnus. 

(Magnus was the one who casually dropped by the Hunter’s Moon that week for an info-gathering chat with Maia – partially for Alec’s sake, of course, but also because he was dying of curiosity himself. 

“An odd pairing, right?” Maia says with a sad smile. “Those two have been coming here for a while now; started off as accidentally bumping into each other and then it just became a thing. Seems like they’ve got a lot to talk about these days, with losing Clary and everything. Not to mention that they’re both idiots who blame themselves for all of it.” She shrugs and hands Magnus his martini. “Simon’s actually started calling it ‘team therapy,’ but don’t tell Jace that.”

“Shadowhunters and their collective allergy to mental health, I swear,” Magnus grumbles as he takes a sip. Maia pats his shoulder consolingly and leaves him to it.)

Alec was just relieved that Jace had found someone to talk to, since he seemed unwilling to do any sharing otherwise. He and Izzy decided not to say anything about Alec’s discovery; gradually, the anguish Alec could feel radiating through the parabatai bond took on a duller edge. He began, tentatively, to hope.

\--

Now, focusing on their bond, Alec can feel the bright stab of grief all over again. 

“Jace, I’m sorry,” he says, drained of all his earlier anger, “but I can’t lose you. Do you understand that? I can’t lose you. You won’t talk to me about what’s going on with you, and I don’t see another way. I’m sorry, but you’re benched.” 

By the time he looks up to see his parabatai’s reaction, Jace just looks resigned. Alec gives into the urge to come out from behind his desk and draw Jace into a hug, hoping it’ll convey all the feeling that his words can’t. Jace buries his face in Alec’s shoulder and grabs him back just as tightly.

“Please, Jace,” Alec says desperately into Jace’s neck. It’s easier to say when he can’t look at him. “You have to be more careful.”

“I’ll try, Alec,” Jace says helplessly. “I can’t – I mean, I’ll try.”

Alec watches Jace leave and scrubs a hand across his face. It feels like no matter how hard he tries, every decision he makes these days is the wrong one; he just hopes that this doesn’t somehow make things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention that I have no intention of re-watching the series to see what I'm getting right (this drunk list of bullets is my only friend and guide) so, uh, apologies if I'm mangling it. Come yell at me about it on tumblr at bimbonaparte.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Alec makes it home, he can feel exhaustion tugging at his heels and a knot of tension in his spine. It loosens when he opens the door to the loft and hears the soft strains of jazz straining through the living room. 

Magnus is lying on his back on the couch, eyes closed and drink in hand. Tired as he is, Alec feels a reflexive smile cross his face. Magnus looks breathtaking as always, soft and relaxed in the lamp light, and Alec marvels that he is allowed to see these moments.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough and warm. Magnus opens his eyes and smiles up at him. “Did you have a good day with Catarina?” 

“The best,” Magnus says with a yawn. He reaches up for Alec’s shirt and tugs him down for a kiss. “Wanted to wait up for you.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Alec says. He collapses onto the couch, and Magnus wriggles until he’s re-positioned his head to rest on Alec’s thigh. He sighs in satisfaction as Alec runs a soothing hand through his hair. “I had to bench Jace today.” 

Magnus makes a quiet sound of distress. He absentmindedly grabs Alec’s hand, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Alexander. I know how worried you are about him.” 

“I don’t know what else to do,” Alec confesses quietly. Then he huffs out a sigh and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, we’ve spent enough time on this. Tell me about your day.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Magnus says with drowsy reproof. He rests his drink on his chest, where his robe has gaped open to reveal a tantalizing streak of smooth skin, and drums his fingers thoughtfully against the glass. 

“It was a good day,” he says finally, blinking his eyes open to smile up at Alec. Alec smiles back; he’s helpless not to. Magnus’ good days have been much less frequent lately than Alec would like. “Catarina was craving sachertorte, so we left Madzie with the babysitter and went to our favorite restaurant in Vienna. It’s even older than I am, can you believe it?” 

“This may be the first time I’ve heard you admit that anything could pre-date you, so yes, I’ll believe it,” Alec says teasingly. Magnus laughs low in his chest; Alec can feel the vibrations where his leg is pressed against Magnus’ body.

“Odds are it won’t happen again, Alexander, so enjoy this moment,” he says with another yawn. “Felt like old times, today. Sat in the garden, drank spritzers until the sun went down. Walked along the Donaukanal and tried to sweet talk Catarina into waltzing with me.” 

“Sounds nice,” Alec says. He can feel his eyes getting heavy; if they don’t want to wake up on the couch in a couple of hours with matching cricks in their necks, they'll need to head to bed soon.

“I wish I could take you,” Magnus says wistfully. Alec looks down at him and notices his slight frown, the furrow between his eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “We can go. We can go anytime, just say the word. I’ll put Izzy in charge, and Catarina will make a portal whenever you ask, no matter what Lorenzo says about it. We’ll go anywhere you want.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Alexander.”

Before Alec can say anything, Magnus pushes himself up to sitting. He throws back the remainder of his drink in one long swallow, then stands and puts his empty glass on the nearby side table. Alec, meanwhile, is still blinking his way out of the warm and sleepy moment that has somehow evaporated around him.

Magnus turns back to him and smiles, holds out his hand. “Come along, darling,” he says. “It’s been a long day for you, and you look exhausted.”

“Magnus,” Alec says uncertainly, taking Magnus’ hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, “is everything okay?” 

Instead of answering, Magnus presses a kiss against Alec’s lips; after a moment, Alec gives himself permission to lean into it. He licks his way into Magnus’ mouth and pulls him close like he’s been wanting to all day, feeling the familiar spark of desire as Magnus slips his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and gives his ass a flirtatious squeeze.

Magnus laughs into the kiss at the twitch of Alec’s hips, and Alec can’t help the grin that breaks out on his own face in response. Magnus leans back with a last, lazy press of lips against Alec’s jaw. 

“Bed, Alexander,” he says with a glint in his eye. “Before we get carried away and end up sleeping on the living room rug. Again.”

Alec winces at the memory of the last time that happened; he’d woken up with aches in places that not even an iratze could fix entirely. “Lead the way,” he says obediently, and lets Magnus tug him toward their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, guys! Kind of wanted this to be an isolated moment before the plot kicks off in earnest. I promise the next update will be meatier :)


End file.
